


The Only Safe Place Around Here (Is With You)

by C4t1l1n4



Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Dopplers (The Witcher), Fluff, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Communicating, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia is Bad at Feelings, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, Hurt/Comfort, Jaskier isn't a dumbass, Kidnapping, M/M, Wordcount: 1.000-3.000, fuck the mountain scene yall, he's just human, never heard of her, that shit never happened, whats canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-10
Updated: 2020-07-10
Packaged: 2021-03-05 03:47:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,983
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25188178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C4t1l1n4/pseuds/C4t1l1n4
Summary: Jaskier does what he's told this time, he sits in their campsite and waits for Geralt to get back. Only when Geralt gets back, something is differentOrGeralt has to save his bard from the trouble he attracts even when he's not trying to
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 3
Kudos: 300





	The Only Safe Place Around Here (Is With You)

**Author's Note:**

> I have never seen, played, or read the Witcher so I have zero clue how Dopplers work. 
> 
> Sorry for any inaccuracies.

“This should be a safe place for now.” Geralt says, bringing them to a stop. 

They have a contract, rather, Geralt has a contract and Jaskier can’t earn them anymore coin by playing at the tavern, because Witcher’s aren’t allowed to stay in town. So instead, they set up camp just inside the tree line, far enough away from the fight scene that Jaskier should be out of harm's way. 

“You’re staying here.” Geralt demands, and for once, Jaskier doesn’t protest. 

“That’s fine,” the bard shrugs, “I’m going to need as much sleep as I can get since we’re going to have to leave early in the morning.” Geralt gathers his armor as Jaskier pulls some leftover dried meat from his pouch, leaning over his notebook, quill in hand. “Good luck,” comes the bard’s well wish, and he gets a grunt in response, the Witcher’s eyes blazing black. 

——  
Geralt returns just a few hours later, startling Jaskier out of his creative haze. Something settles in the bard’s gut, uncomfortable and unrelenting. “Back already?” He asks, unable to keep the skeptical tone out of his voice. 

“Wasn’t as many as we were told.” The Witcher grumbles, dark eyes flickering over to where he sits by the fire. “Waste of potion.” 

Jaskier huffs in agreement but doesn’t comment, still uneasy. It must just be the forest or the distrust of the townspeople, he tells himself, that’s all. Geralt’s medallion isn’t vibrating, so everything must be fine. It must be. 

But still, something lingers, settling heavily in his stomach, filling his gut with a feeling akin to dread.

“You need any help with your armor?” Jaskier tries again, “Or did you already clean it?” 

“I thought you were going to bed.” Geralt says in lieu of a proper response. 

“Couldn’t sleep. Waiting on you.” 

Geralt raises an eyebrow but stands to his feet, walking closer to where Jaskier sits on his bedroll, notebook abandoned but fiddling with his quill nervously. The Witcher gets within arm’s reach and Jaskier flinches back so hard it snaps his quill clean in half. 

“You’re too perceptive for your own good, bard.” This - quite obviously not - Geralt snarls, reaching down with lightning speed and yanking Jaskier up by the collar of his shirt, broken quill falling from his hand as he whimpers. 

The fake Geralt hits Jaskier in the head _hard_ , and the bard stumbles, knocking over his inkwell, the black substance spilling across the forest floor, staining the notebook’s pages. He’s promptly thrown over the fake Geralt’s shoulders - Jaskier thinks it’s pretty safe to say he’s dealing with a Doppler - but can’t do too much to fight back, ears ringing and black dots swarming his vision. He has just enough strength to pry off one of his rings and letting it fall to the ground, hoping it will enough to tip off the real Witcher that something’s wrong. 

——  
The real Witcher returns to the campsite within the next couple of hours, surprised to find it empty. 

“Jaskier?” 

Jaskier isn’t one to go traipsing off in the middle of the night by himself and knows better than to go wandering off, especially when they're on a hunt. The potion has worn off now, eyes back to their normal golden hue, but it doesn’t take enhanced functions to know something is wrong. 

“Jaskier!” He calls again louder, only to be met with silence. 

His gaze flicker’s around the campsite and falls on the bard’s notebook, left open and stained with ink. Jaskier’s notebook is his most precious possession, after his lute, of course, so to see it in such disarray is worrisome. Geralt gently rights the overturned inkwell but sees it’s empty now, thick, black liquid staining the area around it. He also spots Jaskier’s quill, broken and scattered randomly on the ground. 

To prevent the full sense of panic from filling his system, Geralt takes a deep breath and focuses. He catches the faint scent of Jaskier’s flowery smell, but it’s old. He hasn’t been here in a while. Along with it, tangled frustratingly amongst the smell of buttercups and dandelions is something else. Something off. Something sour. 

Geralt’s eyes narrow. He recognizes that smell. “Doppler.” He growls to no one in particular, anger overtaking the fear that had settled into his bones. He belatedly wonders if the townspeople knew about the Doppler too, and were trying to set them up, or if it was just an unlucky coincidence. 

It’s only then, as he storms around their campsite collecting things he’d need, that he notices something reflecting the flickering campfire light. He makes his way closer and discovers it's one of Jaskier’s rings, sitting innocently on the ground, wildly out of place. He pockets the piece of jewelry and takes hope that this is Jaskier realizing he’s in over his head, not the Doppler getting cocky. 

——  
That’s how he finds them an hour later, Jaskier tied to a metal loop sticking out of the wall with a thick rope, unconscious but ultimately unharmed. Geralt notices that the rope is frayed a bit at the center, and wonders if the reason the bard is unconscious is that he tried to escape. Despite how much he wants to run over and free Jaskier, hold him in his arms and reassure him everything’s alright, he sees the Doppler sitting nearby, waiting for the Witcher’s arrival. 

Geralt supposes he shouldn’t be surprised - it makes sense that they’d trick Jaskier with him - but to see a version of himself so realistic, so accurate, is a little unsettling. It’s like looking into a mirror in the worst way possible. He makes himself known, and the Doppler jerks it’s attention away from the weapon it was sharpening to met Geralt’s unwavering stare. 

“So, you came.” To hear his voice, look into his own eyes, it’s an experience like no other, and he finds himself briefly wondering if this is how Jaskier feels all the time, stomach churning and unsettled. “I was starting to think the little one was right.” Geralt stiffens immediately as the Doppler motions to where Jaskier sits, uncomfortable with the nickname used to refer to his bard. “He told me you wouldn’t,” the Doppler continues. Geralt wonders how much of this is true and how much is uttered just to make him mad. “Told me it was a waste of time, that you weren’t friends, had better things to do. I didn’t believe him, of course.” The Doppler is on their feet now, and the two of them are standing off, waiting to see what the other does. 

It’s unfortunate, Geralt thinks, that the Doppler is closer to Jaskier that he is. 

“He’s rather smart, your bardling.” The Doppler concedes, and Geralt hates to admit it sends a curl of satisfaction through his body upon hearing that. “But, well, I couldn’t have him thinking that now could I?” The satisfaction inside him withers almost instantaneously, golden eyes hardening. “So I made sure to tell him, as loudly and clearly as I could, how stupid and worthless he is. Humans are… so easy to break.” Geralt feels a growl rumbling in the base of his throat before he even realizes what’s happening. He knows, that while the words may not have come from himself, they came from someone who looked painstakingly like him and that those words have done damage. 

As he rushes the Doppler, he makes a mental note to be kinder to his bard in the future. 

The fight is surprisingly simple, or maybe all the anger coursing through his veins makes it feel that way. As soon as the Doppler is dead, it reverts to its normal form, gray and lifeless. Geralt makes his way over to Jaskier’s side as soon as he’s sure it’s dead, shaking the bard’s shoulder gently. 

Jaskier’s eyes flutter open groggily, and Geralt is still, crouched in front of him as the bard gathers his surroundings. It takes a couple of seconds, but Geralt can tell everything comes rushing back at once, cornflower eyes widening in fear. 

“Get away from me!” Jaskier exclaims, lashing out with one of his feet, hitting Geralt in the chest, the force catching him off guard and knocking him over. 

Geralt holds up his hands placatingly and makes no effort to move as he speaks, heart breaking as tears gather into the bard’s eyes. “Jaskier. Jaskier, you have to listen to me.” The bard sniffles, and eyes Geralt hesitantly. “If you look over to your right, you will see the body of the Doppler, now reverted back to its original form, because it’s dead.” Jaskier, hesitant to remove his eyes from the Witcher in front of him, flickers his gaze over and sees the dead body, and promptly relaxes. His shoulders fall and he rests his head back against the wall, tears falling now out of pure relief. 

“Oh, Geralt. Thank the Gods.” He practically whimpers. 

“I’m going to move closer now,” Geralt warns “to cut you free, so we can get out of here.”

“Yes, please do.”

Geralt makes quick work of the bard’s bindings and pulls him close, checking him over more thoroughly for injuries. “Did they hurt you any?” Geralt presses. 

Jaskier simply shakes his head, resting most of his weight against the Witcher’s body. “Not besides my head.” A pause, “Tired." 

Geralt doesn’t hesitate to scoop up his bard into his arms, carrying him gently bridal style out of the cave. “They told me about what they said to you.” Geralt says after a while.

Jaskier tenses in his arms, but quickly loosens once again, too tired to stay that stiff for long, and opts for shoving his face in the crook of the Witcher’s neck. “Don’t wanna think about it,” is his muffled reply. 

“I’m not the best with words,” Geralt admits, and Jaskier snorts in agreement, “But don’t ever think I don’t value your company or skills or that I hate you. You’re my friend, Jaskier, even if I say things that might imply otherwise. I will always come to find you.”

“I knew it wasn’t you.” 

“I know, I found your ring. You’re smarter than I give you credit for.” 

“Damn right.” Jaskier snarks, more at ease. 

“You’re notebook got ruined though. I’ll get you another one, and some more ink, at the next town.”

“And a new quill.” Jaskier chimes in.

“Of course.”

They spend the rest of the journey in silence, Geralt carrying his bard the entire time, finally arriving back at their campsite as the sun threatens to peak over the horizon. 

“What a night.” Jaskier laments, crouching over his pile of ruined supplies. 

“I’m sorry you got hurt.” Geralt admits. 

Jaskier shrugs. “Not your fault.” Geralt remains unconvinced. 

“Look,” Jaskier says, glancing up from his notebook to level with Geralt, who sits a few feet away. “It’s no big deal. I’d do it again, too. It’s, well,” Jaskier hesitates, uncharacteristically at a loss for the right words to say “If I told you it’s because I love you, would you laugh at me?” 

Geralt shakes his head. “I know I don’t always act like it but,” He sighs, tired of the ever-revolving emotions that have been tumbling around inside of him all night. “You’re special. To me. In a good way.” 

Despite its awkward phrasing, Jaskier smiles, tired cornflower eyes lighting up. The distance is crossed and suddenly the Witcher finds himself trapped between Jaskier and the tree he was leaning against, lips smashed together. He throws himself into the kiss with energy he doesn’t really have, and they both pull away satisfied. 

“If I’m still in that cave, tied up and knocked out, don’t wake me up.” 

“You aren’t.” Geralt reassures, dragging the bard into his lap.

And if they snuggle together, arms wrapped around each other and fall asleep as the sun rises, then, well, who am I to say?


End file.
